Fragments
by B.A. Tyler
Summary: Dreams bring some cryptic messages to the folks of the 4077th. Updated with Chapters 6, 7, 8, and 9. Now complete!
1. Chapter 1

**Fragments**

There's a door up ahead and Hawkeye feels the need to open it and find out what's beyond.

He's just about to touch the knob when the door swings open on its own. Hawkeye steps across the threshold and instantly shields his eyes because it's blindingly bright here… wherever "here" is. He takes a tentative step forward, then another… his only intent is to move to a point where maybe the brightness will diminish and he can see again.

Another couple of steps and then he stops. As if someone is dimming a light switch, the extreme brightness begins to fade. It's still starkly white, but at least Hawkeye can see, and he doesn't need to keep a hand over his eyes anymore. A figure approaches him and for a millisecond, he's scared of it, for no reason he can discern.

But then he can see the person's face, and he smiles, his shoulders relaxing. "Tommy?" he asks, and he doesn't know why he's asking because obviously it's Tommy, his old buddy from elementary school. "Tommy!" He closes the distance between them and pulls his friend into a bear hug. But Tommy breaks out of the embrace, takes a step back.

"You let me die," he says, and Hawkeye can see the anguish on his face.

For a second, Hawkeye's too stunned to reply. It's true, Tommy died on his operating table, but it's not like Hawkeye "let" it happen. He just hadn't been able to stop it from happening. Finally he says, defensively, "I tried, Tommy. I tried like hell to save you. There was too much damage…" He lets the thought trail off. It may be true, but it doesn't change anything for Tommy. "I'm sorry," he finishes lamely. "I'm sorry you're dead. I miss you."

Tommy turns around sharply as if he's heard someone behind him. "I have to go," he tells Hawkeye, and he begins to walk away.

"Wait! Tommy?" Hawkeye grabs hold of his arm. "Have you seen my mom?" All of a sudden, this matters to him more than anything.

Tommy says only, "It's peaceful," as if that answers the question, and then he pulls out of Hawkeye's grasp and turns away. In a blink, he's gone.

Hawkeye stands there, feeling lost, not entirely sure what to do or which way to turn.

"Hawk?" a disembodied male voice says then. Hawkeye turns in circles looking for the person it belongs to, but nobody's there.

"Who is it?" he asks, frightened again, even though the voice seems familiar.

"It's Trapper, you asshole. Forgot the sound of my voice already?"

Hawkeye realizes that's exactly who it sounds like. But Trapper… he's back Stateside, last Hawkeye knew. "You're dead? You're not dead—you can't be!"

"Who the hell said anything about being dead? Of course I'm not dead. This is a dream. Weird shit happens in dreams."

"I just saw Tommy Gillis. He's dead. So I thought…"

"Get a grip, Hawk. I have to tell you something. You listening to me? This is important. He's dangerous and nobody has any idea."

Hawkeye's confused. "Who's dangerous? Tommy?"

"No. Not Tommy," Trapper says. "Right three. You got that? Right three."

Hawkeye's heart is racing, he's keenly aware that Trapper's trying to tell him something vitally important, but it doesn't make any sense. "What does that mean? Right three?"

"See you in the funny papers!" Trapper says with the lilt in his voice that Hawkeye remembers so well.

"Trapper?" But there's silence now, and Hawkeye knows Trapper's gone, just like Tommy before him.

"Right three," he says out loud, turning the phrase over and over in his head, unable to make heads or tails of it. Did he hear it wrong? Was it actually supposed to be a name or something?

There's loud laughter then, and it's above him and outside of his head. It jolts him awake, pulling him from his dream. He looks around, dazed, momentarily unsure of where he is. Then he recognizes post-op, where he fell asleep on one of the beds after checking on his patients.

"Dr. Pierce?" It's Nurse Kellye, looking down at him with her kewpie-doll face. It was her laughter, along with Bigelow's, that woke him. "You should go back to the Swamp. I would think it's quieter there than here."

"Right three," he says, his voice still husky from sleep.

"What?"

"Never mind." He runs a hand over his face and slowly pulls himself off the bed. "Good idea, I'm going back to the Swamp."

He staggers there in the darkness, exhausted and still a little groggy from his fitful sleep. When he gets to the Swamp, he falls onto his cot, not bothering to change out of his clothes or even take off his boots.

On the other side of the Swamp, Charles is asleep… and murmuring.


	2. Chapter 2

"Charles," his opponent says, "make a move already! You're taking too long."

Charles looks at the chess board and then lifts his head again, straining to see the face of the person sitting opposite him. Too many shadows; he can't identify the man he's playing against.

"There's no time limit for each move," he says in a patronizing tone. "You simply must wait until I'm sufficiently comfortable with the plan I settle on."

"Blah blah blah," the faceless opponent says. Charles wonders if it's Hawkeye, but the voice isn't right. It's too high for Pierce.

"Mocking me isn't going to hurry the process along either."

"This aint brain surgery, for God's sake. Just make a move!"

Although Charles rarely submits to anyone, and although this man is not threatening him in any way, he feels compelled to obey for some reason. "Very well," he says, and hastily moves his queen. "Check," he says, which is a surprise even to himself. He didn't know he was about to check his opponent.

But the man isn't the least bit intimidated. In a flash, he has taken Charles's queen with his bishop. "That was a very stupid move," he admonishes Charles. "You put your queen in harm's way. Tsk tsk… now she's gone. Look at that."

Charles is dumbfounded. He's never been this sloppy at chess before. He prides himself on his meticulous attention to detail, on being able to think ahead four or five moves and know exactly how to get to checkmate. He's a brilliant chess player, and this man has just made him look like a rank amateur.

He sputters a little, then slumps back in his chair. It's only a game, he realizes, but it feels more important than that. It feels like life or death, and he knows he's failing.

"Well well," his chipper opponent says. "You're looking awfully befuddled there, Chuckles. Are you giving up?"

Charles finally finds his voice. "What if I did? What if I said I wanted to stop playing?"

"You can't," the man says. "We play until you either win or lose. And from the looks of it, you're going to be losing. But hey, who knows, you might actually pull this one out. Why don't we just see what happens…"

"No," he says sharply, and he stands up, moving away from the board. "I'm quitting now, thank you very much. We are finished."

His opponent is quiet for a moment. When he speaks again, his voice has turned serious, somber. "That's too bad, Charles. You still had a chance, as long as we were playing. Now I'm afraid you have no chance. None at all."

Charles has had his back to the man, but now he whirls to look in his direction. He still can't see the man's face, merely an outline in the shadows. "What is that supposed to mean?" he demands. "Are you threatening me?"

The figure stands up and slowly moves toward the door. "Of course not, Charles. I would have no reason to do that. But a good chess player knows to keep an eye on the entire board. See the whole picture. That's a big part of the game, isn't it? Stay on your toes, Major. You never know what's underneath the mattress."

Charles isn't sure he heard that last part correctly, and he's about to ask the man to repeat it, but it's too late. His opponent has gone.

He looks around the Swamp, bewildered. What has just happened to him? The whole thing felt so… odd. Eventually he goes back to look at the chess board, to see if he can figure out exactly where he went wrong, but all of the pieces have turned to gumdrops.


	3. Chapter 3

A few tents over, Col. Potter is kicking his blanket off his legs.

He's trying like hell to get control of the bug out. It's been sheer chaos since the second their hospital came under bomb attack, sending them scrambling for safety. They're a mobile unit; bugging out is something they're expected to do when the situation calls for it. And usually they're good at it. But this time… this time it's all wrong.

Everyone's in something of a panic, and Potter can't seem to get a handle on where to go. They're just driving down the road with no actual destination in mind, which of course is pure madness. They have some wounded soldiers in their care, and they need to actually get settled somewhere and get the patients into beds.

"Wait a minute," he barks to Radar, who's driving the jeep. "What about that building up ahead? That look like a big enough building for a hospital?"

Radar casts a quizzical look at him. "Sir?"

"That building, Radar!" he points up ahead.

"Sir, there's no building there. Uh, with all due respect to your colonelness."

Potter shuts his eyes tight and opens them again, and sure enough, the kid is right. There's no building there. Potter shakes his head. Was that some kind of mirage? There's a lot of nothin' out here. He still has no idea where they're headed or why he chose this direction, and he's getting a hopeless feeling in his gut. He feels like the world's worst leader, like just about anyone else would be making better decisions than he is right now.

The rest of the convoy is following them, everyone's expecting him to take them someplace safe, away from the bombing, where they can set up their camp again. And he's failing them miserably.

Radar interrupts his thoughts, saying, "My ma always told me to keep an eye on the quiet ones, the ones who seem all meek and mild and like they fade into the background. Those are the ones you need to watch out for."

Potter's brow furrows. He doesn't understand the non sequitur. But just as he's about to ask Radar what the hell he's talking about, the jeep falls into a huge hole in the road… they're falling… falling… Radar's screaming and Potter's holding on to his hat as if that's the most important thing in all this: his damn hat. You would think they'd hit bottom at some point but they don't. They just keep on falling and falling, and Radar keeps on screaming and screaming, and suddenly Potter starts to laugh. It's way too funny, though he doesn't know exactly why.

With a half scream of his own, mixed with something of a giggle, Sherman Potter bolts awake, kicking his blanket completely off the bed now. He sits upright, breathing hard, struggling to get his bearings, and when he finally realizes what has happened, he chuckles at himself. "Why would I give a shit about the hat?" he asks the empty tent.

Then he lays back down and shuts his eyes, and almost immediately, he's asleep again.


	4. Chapter 4

Margaret is so shocked to be seeing Frank that she can't do anything more than stand there with her mouth open for a couple minutes. Eventually she manages, "Frank? Is it really you? How are you?" and she embraces him warmly.

"Margaret," he says with his cute little smile that she used to love so much. "It's so nice to see you! I'm doing well… really well. Did you know I got a promotion?"

She can't help it, she's feeling all bubbly and excited, as if nothing has ever changed between them. She always had a soft spot for this man, in spite of his many faults. She beams at him and says, "Yes, congratulations, Frank! I don't know anyone who deserved it more."

"Aw, thanks, sweets. You always were my biggest champion."

She kisses him quickly on the cheek, then steps back to take a good look at him. He looks somehow more sure of himself, confident. It's an attractive look on him. "Wow, Frank. You look so… so…"

"Oh, Margaret!" he gushes, and he sweeps her into his arms and kisses her firmly on the mouth.

"It's complete chaos here without you," she confides in him when they part. "Col. Potter, he's OK, but you know the others. No discipline, no regard for the rules." She shakes her head, not wanting to go down that road right now. "Are you coming back to the 4077th? Is that why you're here?" She's secretly hoping that's the case.

"No, sweets, this is just a short visit. I can't stay. But I do kind of miss the place, Margaret. And you too, of course. We had some good times, didn't we? Remember all the picnics out near the mine fields? And all those magical nights here in your tent?" He puts a hand on her arm, strokes it tenderly. "I still love you—I probably always will."

"Oh Frank." Tears shimmer in her eyes. "You know there will always be a special place in my heart for you, too. No matter what."

He looks toward the door, as if someone has knocked, and then gives her a worried look. "You take care of yourself, Margaret."

"You're not going already…? You just got here! Sit down, Frank, and let's talk a while." She gestures to her bed but he shakes his head. He looks anxious all of a sudden, his earlier self-assured manner gone.

"Gotta head on out, Margaret. But I'm glad I got to see you, even if it was only for a minute. Take care." He steps toward the door and then abruptly stops, letting out one of his little cackles. "Oh, I almost forgot!"

"Forgot?"

When he turns to face her again, his eyes have gone from their bottle-blue to pure black. She takes an involuntary step back, alarmed. "Watch out for cook," he says, and then he's out the door.

Margaret, her heart beating fast and her legs suddenly unsteady, takes a seat on her bed. The way he'd looked there at the end… truly frightening. She tries to tell herself that it was just the poor light in here, playing tricks on her eyes.

Yeah, that's all it was.

Of course that's all it was.

She breathes a sigh of relief, now absolutely convinced that nothing strange had happened at all. It'd been a nice, albeit brief, visit from her old friend Frank.

"Watch out for the cook?" she says, remembering his last words. "Huh. The food may be bad here, but I highly doubt the cook is out to poison us. I wonder what that was all about." She shrugs, curls up on her bed and closes her eyes, her mind filling with fond memories of her time with Frank.


	5. Chapter 5

B.J. is looking up at the kite in the sky, listening to his daughter's laughter. "Do you want to try, sweetie?" he asks her, and she nods her head emphatically. He hands the spool of string over to her, saying, "Hold on tight, now. Be careful. I'm right here, so if you get into trouble, just let me know."

He watches as Erin flies the kite. Her face looks positively angelic as she gazes up at it in the sky, and every now and then she lets out the cutest little giggle. He's so happy to be back home with his family… he'd been away forever, it seems.

As if she's reading his mind, Erin looks at him and says, "You missed my childhood."

He's puzzled by that and not sure how to respond. A dog runs by, barking, and that distracts him for a moment. When he refocuses on his daughter, he gasps and stumbles backward. All of a sudden she's a teenager, probably 14 or 15… her hair long and curly, her teeth in braces, her chin sporting a small patch of acne. She's still looking up at the kite, which is flying high in the breeze, but now her expression is very serious and intense, as if she's doing trigonometry homework instead of playing.

"Erin?" he asks with an unsteady voice. "Is that you?" But he knows that it is. Somehow she's aged more than 10 years in the blink of an eye.

"Daddy," she says, but she doesn't take her eyes off the kite. "You have a problem."

"What problem?" He's getting panicky now, worried that she's going to give him bad news about herself or her mother. He can feel his chest tightening with anxiety. "Erin?"

Still not looking his way, she says, "A shooting. You need to stop it. Lots of people will get hurt, unless you stop it."

Frantic, B.J. whirls around, his eyes scanning the park, looking for someone with a gun, or just anyone who appears dangerous. "Here?" he asks her as he turns and turns and turns. "Do you mean here in the park?"

"Daddy… incoming wounded! We've got ambulances in the compound and choppers on the way!"

The P.A. announcement pierces B.J.'s dream and he bolts up in his cot. He doesn't stop to figure out the dream he just had… there's no time. He grabs his bathrobe and throws it on as he runs out the Swamp door to the OR.


	6. Chapter 6

After 11 hours in surgery, the doctors are all sitting in the mess tent drinking coffee, still wearing their blood-splattered whites. Nobody's really talking… they're a little too dazed from their long shift to engage in the usual banter. Radar joins them at the table, looking into his mug as if he's never seen coffee before and saying, "I shouldn't drink this if I want to get to sleep anytime soon."

The mention of sleep reminds B.J. of his bizarre dream. His brow furrows as the memory comes back to him; he knows it was just a dream, but it makes him feel uneasy nonetheless. He looks around the table at the others and says, "I had this dream about my daughter last night… right before the wounded came. She was a little kid at first, and then bam! Suddenly she was a teenager."

"You don't need to be Sigmund Freud to figure that one out, Beej," Hawkeye says after a spectacular yawn. "It's an anxiety dream. You're afraid you'll miss her entire childhood."

B.J.'s eyes flick to Hawkeye's. "That's exactly what she said to me. That I missed her childhood."

Hawk waves a hand. "It's textbook, I'm tellin' ya."

"So then what did she mean about a shooting, Mr. Know-It-All?"

Hawkeye raises his eyebrows. "A shooting? As in bang bang? I don't know… guns in dreams are usually phallic symbols."

"Great," B.J. says sarcastically.

But Hawkeye seems to be getting into this whole dream interpretation thing. "What did she say, exactly?"

B.J. shuts his eyes, trying to remember. "A lot of people will get hurt if I don't stop the shooting. Something like that."

Potter says, "Just dream nonsense, I'm sure, Hunnicutt. Your mind was probably incorporating the war into your dream. I wouldn't worry about it."

Hawkeye's sitting up a little straighter now, looking intrigued, maybe even concerned. "Wait a minute. This is weird. I had a dream about Trapper last night," he reveals. "And he _also_ had a warning… that somebody was dangerous. He told me 'right three,' whatever the hell that means."

B.J. feels a cold shiver travel down his spine. Yeah, it's weird, all right… to put it mildly. Is there some kind of message invading their dreams?

Charles, who's the last person that B.J. imagined would take this seriously, adds, "Well, actually…"

"Yes, Charles?" B.J. prompts, feeling his pulse pick up.

"I don't often recall my dreams," he confesses, "which is why I'm saying anything at all that might contribute to this lunacy. But I have a very vivid recollection of the man I was playing chess with telling me that I needed to stay on my toes. It was quite unsettling. He said… well, I'm not sure of the exact wording, but he said something was underneath the mattress."

B.J. looks at Hawkeye and then at Potter. Their expressions make it clear: this is beyond spooky. There's something very strange going on, and it seems that it may indicate real danger.

Potter clears his throat, then says, "As it happens, I did have something of an odd dream, myself. We were bugging out, but we didn't know where we were going. And Radar said—"

"I was in your dream, sir?" He sounds quite pleased.

"Yes, you were. And you said something about watching out for the quiet ones."

Radar frowns. "That doesn't sound like me, sir. I don't have anything against quiet people."

Now they're all looking around the table at each other, alert and on edge, wondering what on earth all of this is supposed to mean.

As if on cue, Margaret comes into the mess tent then and starts to head for the coffee urn. Potter stops her, "Margaret? Could you come over here for a second?"

"Certainly, sir." She takes a seat at the table and the smile on her face quickly fades as she looks at the doctors' expressions. "Is something wrong?"

B.J.'s heart is hammering in his chest now. He's convinced all of this means something. Without any preamble, Potter says to Margaret, "Did you have a dream last night? An unusual dream that might have included a warning of some kind?"

"A what?" Margaret looks utterly confused, but only for a second, because apparently a memory comes to her and her expression turns to surprise. "Watch out for the cook," she mumbles, and the men, tense and apprehensive, nearly leap out of their seats toward her.

"What?" Hawkeye and B.J. ask in unison.

She gazes around the table at them all. "I dreamt about Frank," she explains. "He was in my tent, visiting me. And when he was leaving, he said, 'Watch out for the cook.' I don't know what that's supposed to mean."

Hawkeye exchanges a look with B.J. "Our cook?"

"That doesn't make sense… does it?" B.J. asks.

Charles interjects, "Nothing about any of this makes sense."

Turning to Potter, Hawkeye says, "I know it sounds crazy, Colonel, but I really want to go talk to the cook right now."

"Now hold on a minute, Pierce," the Colonel says with his hand held up. "Let's just settle down here and think, before we go off half-cocked. What do we really know?"

"That something pretty spooky is goin' on!" Radar replies, his face a little paler than usual.

"Hold on a second," B.J. says suddenly, his mind reeling as something comes back to him. "Hang on, I think we have… don't we have a patient in post-op named Cooke?" He looks at Potter for confirmation.

And Potter nods his head slowly. "Yeah. You're right, Hunnicutt, we do. Private Cooke, he's been here since Sunday. Chest wound, but he's on the mend."

Hawkeye's on his feet in a flash. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm going to post-op to take a peek under Private Cooke's mattress. Hopefully I'll only end up looking like some crazy man with a dust-bunny fetish, because I'm really worried about what the alternative would be."

"We'll all go, Pierce," Potter says, and as a group, they head out of the mess tent.


	7. Chapter 7

Looking like some kind of commando team on a mission, they march into post-op, where Kellye, one of the nurses on duty, gives them a wide-eyed look. "Sir?" she addresses Potter. "Is there a problem?"

"Private Cooke," he barks a little too harshly. "Which one is he?"

She points. "He's the third bed on the right, sir. He's doing just fine… he's been quiet as a mouse, hasn't given us any problems at all. We hardly know he's here." She flashes a smile but then seems to sense the gravity of the situation and her dimples disappear.

Hawkeye puts a hand on Potter's arm. "Right three," he says softly. "And he's the third bed on the right."

B.J. feels goosebumps break out on his arms.

All six of them head for Cooke's bed, Potter in the lead, and B.J. realizes they must look very imposing… if not menacing.

The approaching horde has alerted Cooke, and he sits up in his bed, his expression one of surprise. He doesn't say anything, though… instead he leans over and appears to be reaching underneath his mattress—

Potter's too fast for him. He pounces on the guy, and the much larger B.J. and Charles are instantly there for backup. They manage to shove Cooke onto his back again, though the man struggles against them. It's no contest. Three against one, and the one is still recovering from a chest injury.

Amidst the mayhem, Hawkeye kneels down to see what exactly is underneath the mattress that the private had been reaching for.

In one hand, he pulls out a rifle. In the other, he pulls out a revolver.

"What the hell?" Hawkeye asks. "How did he manage to hang onto these? Don't all weapons get put into the gun bin?"

Of course nobody knows the answer to that question, except for Cooke, and he's too busy grunting and fighting back, as if he stands any chance of actually overpowering six people all by himself.

"Kellye!" Potter calls out. "Sedative—stat! Radar, get on the horn to the MPs. On the double!"

Radar scurries out to his office. Hawkeye, looking a little wild-eyed, leans toward Cooke and demands, "What the hell is wrong with you, fella? We're all on the same side!"

Cooke doesn't say a word. His frantic eyes flick from Hawkeye to Potter to Charles to B.J. to Margaret. It looks like he might have something to say after all, but in the next instant, Kellye's there with a needle, and she calmly injects a sedative into his vein.

In mere seconds, Cooke has gone limp, and B.J. and Charles release their hold on him. They take a step back, none of them saying anything, just looking around at one another… bewildered.

And then Hawkeye empties the guns of their bullets.


	8. Chapter 8

Col. Potter walks into the mess tent and takes a seat at the table where his officers are lazily picking at their food.

"I just got off the phone with Sidney," he says, taking off his glasses and giving the lenses a wipe. "He's had a couple of sessions with Cooke by now, but he says there isn't anything he can do. The poor lad's completely off his rocker, I'm afraid. Sidney expects to send him Stateside, to a mental institution, within the week."

"Why was he planning to shoot up the place?" Hawkeye wants to know.

Potter shrugs. "I'm not sure we'll ever know that, Pierce... It just sounds like a typical case of battle fatigue. He seems to have completely lost touch with reality. Sidney says the poor boy thinks _everyone_ is the enemy. He can't be convinced otherwise." Potter shakes his head. "It's one hell of a sad situation, that's for sure."

They all fall into silence for a moment, reflecting on what might have happened… if not for their dreams.

Margaret opens her mouth to say something and then closes it again. She lets out a small laugh. "I was about to ask what exactly happened to us… you know, with our dreams? But then I realized you all don't know either."

B.J. shakes his head. "It was the damnedest thing."

"Whatever strange phenomenon it was, I'm most grateful for it," Charles says.

"You said it, Chuck," Hawkeye chimes in, and then accepts the sneer he receives from Winchester at his use of the dreaded "Chuck" nickname.

"It's one for the books, all right," Potter agrees. "I don't think I'll ever take my dreams lightly again."

Suddenly the P.A. crackles to life, interrupting their dinner with, "Attention all personnel! Incoming wounded! Looks like a lot, folks. If you liked 'Ridiculously Long OR Session, Part 1,' you're going to love the sequel!"

And they all rush out of the mess tent to greet the choppers.


	9. Chapter 9

There's a door up ahead and Hawkeye feels the need to open it and find out what's beyond.

Just as he's about to turn the knob, a disembodied voice stops him with, "No, you can't go in there, Hawk."

This time he recognizes it as Trapper's voice immediately, and his face breaks into a grin. "Trap? Hey, great to hear you again! D'you know that you gave me some pretty damn good advice the last time… even if _was_ cryptic as hell?"

"Glad I could be of service," Trapper says, and Hawkeye can hear the smile in his voice. "I actually have one more thing to tell you, though."

"Uh oh. More danger?" Hawkeye asks with dread. He's turning in slow circles, looking around for Trapper even though he knows he won't see him. There's nobody here at all… it's just a big, brightly lit room, stark and empty.

Trapper doesn't answer the question directly. Instead he says, "You need to do me a favor, OK?"

"OK." Hawkeye's on edge now, worried and tense. His mouth has gone dry.

"You'll have to remember this… It happens further down the road, but I can't come back and tell you again. So remember this, OK? You listening?"

"Yeah, Trap. Go ahead."

"You need to keep your big mouth shut on the bus," Trapper says, and of course he's being annoyingly cryptic again.

But the tension in Hawkeye's body dissipates, and he actually laughs. This advice sounds about as weighty as "always wear clean underwear" or "don't cross against the light." It doesn't sound ominous—or even serious—to him. "Got it, Trap. Keep my big fat mouth shut. Yeah, that sure sounds like something you'd tell me to do!"

"This is serious, Hawk. You're going to want to talk to the mother… she has a crying baby and you're going to want to say something to her. But don't. Just trust me. Everything will actually turn out all right, in the end… as long as you don't say anything."

Hawkeye nods, mostly just to humor Trapper, but at the same time keenly aware that the man's previous warning had been quite helpful. "OK, you got it, Trap. Whatever you say, my unseen friend. Hey, why don't you come on out of hiding and let's play a little chess or something?"

But there's no response, and Hawkeye instinctively knows that Trapper has gone. He sighs, feeling a little empty, feeling a little lost. Not knowing what else to do, he reaches for the doorknob he was about to turn before Trap stopped him.

Even as he does, he tries to file away in his brain something about a woman on a bus… tries to sear it into his memory, just in case…

But when he awakens the next morning, Hawkeye no longer remembers his friend's advice… or any part of the dream at all.


End file.
